


Malicious Compliance

by Sasskarian



Series: SWTOR Holocrons [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game)
Genre: Face Slapping, Ficlet, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Light Bondage, Love, Non-Graphic Smut, Oral Sex, Other, POV Second Person, Romance, Short One Shot, Sith Warrior Storyline Spoilers, Smut, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-03
Updated: 2020-02-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:42:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22547977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sasskarian/pseuds/Sasskarian
Summary: He wants all of you, your Captain. And for him— only for him— will you give all.
Relationships: Malavai Quinn/Sith Warrior
Series: SWTOR Holocrons [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1622305
Comments: 2
Kudos: 21





	Malicious Compliance

Character: Malavai Quinn  
Pair: Quinn/Sith Warrior (gender neutral)  
Rating: 18+  
TW: Bondage, Force shenanigans, Slapping, Oral, Marking, Biting  
***  
_“If you insist on reassignment, it will be a shame. But I’ll grant it.”_

_“...no. I’m an idiot. I— Permission to kiss you, my lord?”_

***  
***

So this is how it feels to have a galaxy tremble at your feet. 

Not just the galaxy, though— millions of lives shuddering under the weight of your boot on their necks cannot compare to the half-lidded gray-blue eyes drinking you in like you’re his salvation and damnation both. No, there is power in this, in these stolen moments with him, that rivals nothing else you’ve found anywhere among the stars. 

He’s a brave man, your Captain. You know this well enough. It takes a brave man to fight back to back with a Sith, and a braver one still to betray a Sith. 

But it takes a man with the courage of an entire fleet of Mandalorians to love a Sith, and oh, how he loves you. Like you hung the moons and the stars and all the spaces between. Like you are his other half, like loving you is his sole purpose in life, does Malavai Quinn love you. Your old masters spoke nothing of this, of this enraging _hunger_ gnawing at your bones and curling into the hollows of your rib cage. This is something raw, something primal, beyond good or bad or right or wrong. This is love. This is all-consuming, a need that you lied to yourself about, that shakes your hands and glazes your eyes, that burns bright and fierce until you want to crawl as far inside him as you can. 

Is it really even love if you don’t want to devour him just a little?

No time is enough, no touch is enough, to sate the beast he’s awoken in you. It’s maddening, the way you crave him. Not just his subjugation, as in the beginning; this is more. You want more than his proud frame on his knees before you, more than that sinner’s voice whispering another, _Yes, my Lord._

You hunger for _him,_ for _Quinn._

For the adoration he keeps banked in his gaze, love dripping with devotion wrapped up inside the professional officer. For the way he surprises you, still, even after all these years— like ribbons of fire in a Tythonian opalent, Quinn is shot through with nerves, and defiances, that delight. Even in the way he obeys your orders, there is always that core of himself strong and alive and vital. _Malicious compliance,_ he’d once said, and that sums the both of you up _so_ nicely.

A predator’s smile curls your lips as you look at him, trembling under you, those eyes fixed to you. 

_I thought I told you to stay still, Captain,_ you say, and, because you’re looking for it, the smirk that flits across his generous mouth is clear as day despite lasting only a heartbeat. That streak of possessive pride, that sharp, vicious delight that he trusts enough in you to play the games he plays, coils through you even as you tighten the Force bonds around his wrists with a thought.

 _Apologies, my Lord,_ your Captain replies, the slightest edge to his voice as his arms stretch higher over his head. _My mind wandered into… distractions._

Quinn’s hips roll under you, just slightly, and oh, isn’t that just _delectable_. You know precisely where his mind went wandering, and it’s hardly surprising; it would take more willpower than a mortal man, even one as blessed as Quinn, has to stay on edge for so many hours. Torturing him like this, the two of you alone, entwined in a blissfully empty apartment far away from Kaas City, is a favorite pastime for both of you. And were it a competition, you’d call it dead even in scores. 

Your hands move leisurely over his sweat-slick skin, those sharp nails caressing the lean length of him. Muscles quiver under your touch, under the whispered promise of cruelty and pleasure, and from Quinn’s throat there is the smallest of moans. _My— my Lord_ , he says, and it’s as much a plea as you’ve wrung from him tonight; he is beginning to break, breath coming in sharp bursts. Not a gasp, or anything so base. Yet, anyway. But those lovely, long muscles strain against your power, and his every sound is another note in tonight’s song of begging. 

You’ve learned him well, your Captain. Your lover. You’ve learned how to push him, how far you can stretch him before he breaks. It doesn’t do to destroy that which you love, and oh, you do love him. Wild and reckless, with all the eldritch mouths of dagger-teeth and forgotten Sith darkness, with the strange crackles of light Jaesa and Vette fan the flames of. With every blood-soaked saber slash and crumpled throat, every war cry howled in battle and sleepless night woken at his side, you love Malavai Quinn with _everything_ in you.

And it is devastating in its intensity. 

The Sith code, broken, useless toy it’s proven, rages that peace is a lie, and there is only passion. But you, you know the truth. Peace does exist, buried in the passion winding through you, passion that by all logic should have burnt out years ago in the wake of his betrayal. Peace is in your fingertip’s slow, wondering path across his lips, and the sigh of his breath against your neck as you take him to the hilt between your thighs. 

He hisses your name like a curse and the crack of your palm against his cheek is as sweet as it is sharp. _Apologies, my Lord,_ he whispers again, and there, burning in his soul is that beautiful defiance, that fierce little flame that says he’ll change the game the second he doesn’t like it anymore. You love it, you love _him,_ and there is nothing else in this galaxy— not the machinations of the Emperor, not your title as his Wrath, _nothing_ — that matters except for the rise and fall of his breath, his wordless pleas, and the way he feels under you as you fuck him into the mattress at your leisure.

 _Lord, please._ He whines, and that’s the last of your willpower gone, to see your Captain falling apart under you, writhing against your sheets. The Force bonds around his wrists wink out of existence, and you have a brief moment to lap up his sweet, secret smile—

—before he hooks his knee under yours and you find yourself flat on your back, Quinn hovering above you. He doesn’t wait for permission this time, a habit long since eschewed, as his hands circle your wrists, pinning you to the bed. 

_I have you now,_ he says, half growls, and oh, this is your _very_ favorite part of the game. How he’s learned to lie in wait, take advantage of your impatience, until he finds something to exploit. If he had even an ounce of Force sensitivity, your Quinn would be a formidable Sith in his own right, and that you don’t have to pull any blows, reduce yourself to something smaller and weaker to allow him to keep pace with you, is downright intoxicating. He is a true match, a foil, and the love thundering through the Force with every beat of your heart will shake down the very _stars_ with want of him.

He wants all of you, your Captain. And for him— only for him— will you give all.

 _So you do,_ you murmur, flexing your fingers. You could throw him off or have him cowed at your feet with a thought but this feigned weakness— a gentle lie that gives way to real vulnerability as his teeth graze your neck— fills him with confidence, and you with pleasure. _And what will you do with me, Captain?_

 _Everything,_ is his response, a promise that howls inside your heart. 

Quinn’s lips are soft trailing down your chest, the flutter of his breath against your skin a tease you’d lay down entire Empires for. When he reaches your waist, your newly-released hands tunnel into his hair, holding him as close as you can, as he strokes his thumbs down the bones of your hips. 

_Stars, but you’re beautiful_ , he whispers against your thigh. _My Lord._

The smallest nudge of his hands has your knees parting for him. _My love,_ is murmured into the crook of your knee as he guides it over his shoulder, spreading you with that same ruthless, officer’s efficiency. The first touch of his tongue to your flesh is like a brand, searing you right down to the soul, and the next takes your breath away. His mouth on you is the holiest of hymns whispered here in the dark, the stars a timeless audience as lovers take each other apart bathed in their light, until the only sound you know is the sigh of his name on your lips.

***

 _Are you… hurt, my Lord?_ His voice drags you out of the trance of hot water pounding on your neck, releasing the last dregs of tension he didn’t quite manage to fuck out of you. 

In answer, you hold a hand out of the swirling clouds of steam and for a moment, you wonder what he sees: a half-crazed Sith, luring someone into a trap? A sated lover, bearing proud love bites? Something else? 

But he takes your hand without hesitation, smiling. You whisper, _You could never hurt me, Quinn,_ and he nods, both of you knowing better than to believe the lie. He _could_ hurt you. He is one of the very few people still among the living who could hurt you; who did, once, hurt you in ways you’re surprised healed over. That betrayal, so long ago, almost destroyed this. Certainly your Masters and mentors would never have shown mercy; the thought of Baras and his like hesitating even a moment to kill is laughable at best. And pitiful beneath that. 

Maybe Quinn does have some Force sensitivity, or maybe he’s just learned how to read your face after all these years. Warm arms wrap around you and pull you against his chest and under your ear, his heart beats strong and true in time with yours. Cradled in his embrace, you release the leash on your abilities and tendrils of Force spool around you. He’s bright in your Sight even with your eyes closed, like a guiding star on a homeworld you barely remember, and you _feel_ his smile long before you open your eyes to see it. 

With a brush of your fingers, the angry red handprint on his face begins to fade, and he lets you heal two bites and a second bruise before he gently lifts your hand; this is the ritual, after these kinds of nights. _Leave this one,_ he asks, gesturing to the bite on his shoulder. Dusky red tinges his cheekbones as he murmurs, _I like feeling marked as yours._

Those simple words rock you to the core. He’s said them before, and meant them before, and every time it still shakes your broken pieces like a child’s rattle. That small, not-quite-shy smile, as if he still can’t quite believe the two of you are here, together. He lifts your hand to his lips, skimming the skin-warm ring you’d wed him with. _You are mine,_ you say, touching its mirror on his hand, _and I yours._

Peace is supposed to be a lie. And Passion is definitely strength. But here, you have both. It’s in him, in you, and the entire galaxy will bow before your love of the curve of his lips in the dawning light.


End file.
